The Irish standard., 1887-09-03
THE IRISH STANDARD SATURDAY. SEPTEMBER 8, 1887.

TIE ]
St. Johns eve, when Brian Purcell
read for her in the gloam!ng the manu-
script the school-master had given him
how we'll she remembered it! And
now the thought occurs to her-it was
the last time she shed tears. What a
comment upon her life since then!
Brian loaned her the manuscript, and
she copied every word into her old
scrap book. She did not weep when
she was copying it; so it must have been
his manner of reading it that affected
her. She takes the old scrap book from
drawer and begins turning over the
leaves. Some of them contain verses
of her own, which she used to so long
to show him, but never had the cour-
age. She takes a withered rose leaf
from book, and touches it with her
lips. There must be some reminis-
cence connected with it, for her eyes
almost moisten.
Poor fellow she murmured, Il felt
his hand tremble that day; and though
my heart fluttered, was unworthy of
him even then. If not, why did my
thoughts run, even at that moment,
upon all my mother told me about his
large farm and his fathers wealth?
Why did 1 think of anything but that
he loved me? Worldliness was born
with me-
But here we must venture to inter-
rupt Miss Evans. Worldliness was not
born with her; but probably it was
early instilled into her. This we be-
lieve, is one of the curses of discon-
tented poverty.
Poor Sally Cavanagh!' she continued;
how she hugged me when I told her!'
And she smiled at the recollection of
the dark-eyed peasant girl dancing
Haste the Wedding till she was out
of breath. and then swapping her
fingers, and triumphantly exclaimlng
Wont we have night of it!' She
turned over a few more leaves; and,
with her elbow resting on the table,
and shading her eyes with her hand,
she began to read. She had entitled
the little story
WHY THE SCHOLARSHIPS HAIR
GREW GRAY.
L was very proud and happy when I
got the little school. I thanked God
with full heart that now my widowed
mother would have a home. and some
of the little comforts to which she had
been so long a stranger. My father
died when 1 was twelve years old. Her
life since his death had been one long
struggle with poverty and want. I had
too much reason to believe that she had
not been happier as wife than she had
been as widow; for my father was
drunkard. Yet, she always endeavored
to make me believe that he was a good
man; and my own recollection of him
led me to believe that he was not bad
man. Strange to say, loved him far
better than I loyed my poor mother;
and what is still stranger, his ill treat
ment of her-I might apply the term
brutal to it-never caused me any pain
or grief. believe I thought that every
thing my father did should be right.
My mother confirmed me in this way of
thinking; for she always spoke to him
with respect, almost with reverence.
l can remember her singing and laugh
ing when he had gone out after cruelty
beating her. 1 think he must have
loved her; for. one day when he re-
turned home unexpectedly and found
her asleep, with wound upon her fore
head, which his own hand had inflicted,
he stopped down and kissed her. I
knew. she was not asleep, though he
thought she was; for I saw her lips
tremble, and the tears stealing down
her cheeks. He walked out of the house
softly; and then my mother began to
sob, and flung herself upon her knees.
I can recall to this day the flutter of
her heart as she strained me in her
arms after praying fervently.
1t never occurred to me that there
was anything degrading or sinful in
drunkenness, until one morning when
I went with my father to the public
house. He drank two glasses Of raw
whisky, and was on his way home, when
wretched sot of his acquaintance
stopped him. The mans face and lips
were livid, and his eyes dull and CLASSY.
He was in rags, and when 1 saw his
whole frame trembling, I thought it
was cold he was.
Are you after having your morning?'
said he to my father.
L am,' was the reply.
The wretched man held his face close
to my fathers. 'Blood-an' .ouns, num-
said he, let us get the smell of it.
That was the first time conceived
anything like disgust for a drunkard.
porhons tho roasOn did sO than was